


Darling, let's not talk too much

by Insertsmartnamehere



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Broken Bones, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, First Aid, First a lot of hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Sleep Deprivation, Then the comfort, Whump, and he gets one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 02:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10844655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insertsmartnamehere/pseuds/Insertsmartnamehere
Summary: Daryl had never hated a sound as bad as this voice; not the song that kept him out of his sleep, not the click and hiss of his fathers belt, not the snarling of people that should have been dead and buried, not even the thud of Luciel.In which Daryl talks back and suffers to consequences.





	Darling, let's not talk too much

**Author's Note:**

> As we all know, I don't own these characters. Still, it would make me unbelievably happy if you found some time to spare and left me some feedback.  
> Title is from the song 'Shape of you' by Ed Sheeran.

Daryl had never been much of a talker. After meeting the haggard bunch he now dared to call his family, he had tried to step it up a little. It had gotten easier as he realized they actually cared for his opinion, no matter how gruff his voice sounded. They would ask a question and look up at him, waiting.

Then there was Negan, with his abundance of words. They flowed over him, crawled under his skin. After not having slept for days – weeks? - they felt like nails being stabbed into his head.

Negan’s voice seemed to slowly replace his own. When Dwight opened the door of his cell that morning, light dripping all over him and making his eyes tear up, he couldn’t remember how long he had been silent.

Dwight hauled him to his feet and pulled him out of the cell, into the corridor. Daryl did not have enough energy to worry about where they were going. One moment he was stumbling over his own feet, the next someone pushed him into a chair in a nice-looking office. Books waited to be read on the shelves along the walls and the carpet felt warm beneath his bare feet. He blinked, trying to regain his senses.

Negan sat on the edge of a desk in front of him. Luciel was as always in his right hand, swinging lazily.

‘The lack of sleep catching up?’ he asked. 'I can not imagine how tired you must be. You know, I have an amazing bed close by. It’s big, soft… I like to share it with his wife, or, well, ex-wife.’ He nodded to Dwight. Daryl couldn’t see him, standing behind his back, but the hand that was holding him in place did not move. 'You could have it, if you wanted. All you have to do is say the magic words. There’s not much to it. After all, you are already used to being someones bitch.’

Daryl clenched his teeth. The words burned.

'Speaking of Rick, I am wondering how the little girl is. Does she say 'daddy’ yet? Or 'Carl’? I am thinking that maybe she should start out with 'Negan’. It’s not too late for her to learn who would make the better father, don’t you think?’

Daryl had never hated a sound as bad as this voice; not the song that kept him out of his sleep, not the click and hiss of his fathers belt, not the snarling of people that should have been dead and buried, not even the thud of Luciel.

'You keep your dirty hands of her,’ he growled. It was hoarse, like stones grinding against each other, and sounded unreal to him, but he did not stop. 'If you touch her with one finger, if you do so much as come within a square mile of her, I swear I will fucking kill you.’

'Will you, now?’ Negan raised his brow in mock-surprise. 'And here I was thinking you had not only lost your voice, but also your will to fight. Well, if you enjoy taking on people stronger than yourself that much, I can arrange something. Dwight?’

His tone didn’t change, still low and playful, but the man behind Daryl’s back immediately snapped to attention.

'Get the boys of yesterdays hunt. After such a close call with a walker, they must be pretty fucking frustrated. Maybe they can blow of some steam. But not in this office. I like the carpet.’

He got up, waving Luciel at Daryl as if saying goodbye. Although his heart was thumping in his throat with both anger and fear, Daryl neither flinched nor lashed out. Negan laughed.

As soon as he had left, Dwight pulled Daryl to his feet again.

“We are going to have some fun,’ he said.

Daryl had already lost the urge to answer.

***

When Dwight threw him back in his cell, his whole body was hurting. He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened. He had tried to defend himself in the beginning, that much was clear, but at some point someone had grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, while someone else rained punched everywhere he could hit.

He had fallen on the ground. Tried to get up. Failed.

Things got kind of hazy after that.

Now his right eye was almost swollen shut. He tasted blood, maybe because a tooth had been knocked out, or a lip split, or because he had bitten trough his tongue. Maybe it was all of those.

He tried to curl up in the corner, pulling his legs close to his chest, but the moment he touched his ribs, stars flashed before his eyes and he gagged.

Broken, then.

Carefully, he stretched out his legs again and tried to control his breathing. The harsh, panting gasps were audible even over the sound of the song. His left shoulder moved painfully and he was pretty sure it was dislocated, but bringing up his hand felt like a fifty mile journey.

Instead, he leaned back his head and let his eyes fall shut.

***

It was lot harder to wake up than it had been to fall asleep – or pass out. All Daryl’s nerve-endings were on fire; he wasn’t aware of anything beyond his body. The pain seemed to come from everywhere at once. He closed his eyes again, groaning and whimpering, feeling captured within his limbs, his head, his chest, as much as in the cell.

After a few minutes of very deliberate breathing, he had assembled enough awareness to pin-point the individual aches, which shouldn’t have been a relieve but still was. And there was something else catching his attention now: clamor behind the door. Thuds mixed with screams, as if there was some heavy fighting going on. He squinted in the half-dark. That was when he saw the door was ajar.

A rush of energy went through his battered body. Dwight must have forgotten to lock it, either gloating over the fight or simply convinced Daryl was no longer a danger.

With his back against the wall, Daryl tried to get himself standing. His head was swimming, the room turning around him, and he stepped to the side to keep up with it. Broken ribs moved beneath the arm he had wrapped around them protectively.

Still pushed up against the wall, he shuffled to the door. The sounds were softer now, not ending but moving farther away. Walkers that had managed to get in? A group of survivors?

In all honesty, Daryl couldn’t care less. Very, very slowly he moved to the opening of the door and looked trough. There was no one: the corridor looked old, dirty, desolate.

He knew this was his only chance. Whether his body was going to cooperate or not: if he ever wanted to get out, he had to take his chances now and run. He was moving before he had finished any of his thoughts.

The benefit of bare feet was their silence. However, Daryl missed his bow sourly as he sneaked through the building. He knew he wouldn’t have the strength to shoot it, but the weight of it had always been a comfort, something secure in an age that seemed to specialize in fucking over everything well known.

He found another door standing ajar and after having listened for activity behind it, he pushed it open. Cold wind made him shiver. He stood on a small, concrete square. In front of him was a fence, walkers moving trough the field behind it. After that, there was only forest. The fighting sounded far away, located on the other side of the building.

Daryl forced himself to move. It was harder now there was no wall to lean on. Staggering and panting, he reached the fence.

 _Climb_ , he told himself. It was mostly his mind that was escaping, his body limply following orders. _You climbed a hill with an arrow through your side. You can climb a fucking fence, you wimp_.

He closed his eyes and pushed the fingers of his right hand through the openings in the fencing. Pulled himself up with one arm, the other dangling useless to his side. There was no time to make a sling, no time to put it back in place. He should have done so yesterday, but regret never served nobody.

Then his feet, toes seeking ways to hold on. His arm again. Feet. He worked himself up till his upper body was leaning over to the other side. Sweat dripped in his eyes and down over his nose, even though he still felt cold.

He pulled up his feet a last time and tumbled over.

The smack pushed all air at of his lungs. Gasping turned into coughing as he desperately tried to get in some oxygen. Every cough made his ribs hurt worse and he doubled over, holding onto himself as he pressed his brow against his knees and felt tears leak into the fabric.

A snarl pulled him out of his misery. Walkers quickly covered the distance between him and their dead hands, their snapping jaws. _You gotta get up. Do it for Rick, for Carol, for the Little Ass Kicker_.

He began stumbling again. If any of Negan’s men saw him now, he wouldn’t look twice: Daryl was convinced he blended in perfectly between the bloodied, torn and disfigured walkers. Somewhere half way trough the field he picked up a stick, swinging it around to keep the walkers at bay.

He wasn’t fast, but luckily, neither were they.

He reached the edge of the forest in a daze. Tremors wracked him and he was drenched with sweat. He wanted to throw up, but there was no time to stop, no place to hide. _One foot in front of the other._ Only the patches of ground right before his feet still existed, all the rest was just color whirling about.

_One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other._

Then he stumbled over a branch. He tried to regain his footing, but it was of no use. The moment he hit the ground, all lights went out.

***

Passing out and waking up disoriented and in pain; it seemed to become a pattern in his life that he had never really longed for.

Immediately, he tried to get up, but a force on his shoulder prevented it. He cried out, quickly cutting of the sound, as he scrambled around for something to hit the walker of him. He couldn’t get bitten, not now, not after all of this.

'Hey,’ a voice said, though the sound only slowly managed to make its way to his head. 'It’s okay, you are alright, just relax. I don’t need you harming yourself any further.’

He obeyed, half out of surprise, and tried to get his eyes to open. A blurry face appeared in front of him, too close for comfort. Again, he tried to lash out. His arm was caught mid-swing.

'Hey, hey, no hitting! I am not trying to harm you. Take a deep breath for me, alright?’

The voice was nice, stern but soft, nothing like Negan’s monologues or his own wrung-out sound. He tried to do as the voice said, because walkers didn’t talk and there was nothing else to do. His ribs, however, had other plans. As soon as he breathed deeply, they screamed out and he screamed with them, arching his back, seeking for a way to escape.

'Sssh,’ the voice said. 'I know it hurts, but try not to make so much noise. I will have a look at your ribs. In fact, I was just about to do so when you decided to wake up. I am Y/N, by the way. I found you in the forest. Thought you were a walker, almost stabbed you to dead. It’s fine, though. You can relax. You are in my house, well, shelter. I dragged you, sorry for that.’

While Y/N kept up a stream of chatter, she cut of his shirt and pushed the remains to the side. Daryl finally could see he was laying in a tent on a pile of blankets. Next to him a whole range of supplies was laid out.

Y/N whistled softly as she saw the bruises covering on his chest, sides and shoulders. 'Negan still out there, I imagine? Good thing my friends are taking care of him right now.’

She sounded like there was something of revenge in the game, and he didn’t mind at all. An enemy of Negan was a friend of his. He knew he had to get back to his real friends, his family, but for now, it was good to be taken care of. It had been very long since anyone had touched him gently.

'Your left shoulder is dislocated,’ Y/N commented. 'I am going to put it back in place. Try not to scream, alright? It attracts walkers.’

She put a hand on his elbow and one on his shoulder, and pulled. Daryl hissed between gritted teeth till he heard a pop and felt the joint move back in place. He moaned. For a moment, Y/N was still, giving him time to compose himself. Then she reached out and stroked the filthy hair from his brow. 'Already done,’ she said kindly. 'You okay?’

Daryl thought about an honest answer, but in the end, just nodded.

She didn’t buy it, of course, but she didn’t correct him either.

'I will clean you up first, than wrap your ribs. I am afraid I can’t do much more for them. I will bandage your feet too – they were bleeding pretty bad. The strongest painkillers I have left are Tylenol, I am afraid, but at least they will help with the fever. It’s not too bad yet, but let’s not give it a chance to raise, right?’

She put her words to action, cleaning first his face and then his body with a washcloth, lukewarm water and very soft touches. Ever so often, he grimaced or flinched back, and every time she murmured an apology.

After he had been cleaned, she dabbed the cuts with alcohol. He curled his fist in the bedding at the stinging of it.

'Here,’ Y/N said quietly. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it as she used the other to further clean him up. She didn’t let go till she had to move to his feet.

Wrapping up his ribs was the last torture to survive. Y/N helped Daryl to sit up. He leaned on her heavily, and by the time she was done, he was too exhausted to keep up an appearance. So as Y/N stepped away from the bed, he reached out. He was afraid she would ask what he needed, but she didn’t, just stepped back into his space and set down next to him. The blankets dipped beneath her weight.

He leaned over and pushed his face against her shoulder. Even holding onto a stranger seemed better than being alone right now.

'Sssh,’ she shushed, patting his back. 'You are fine.’

He shuddered. _And what about my friends?_ he wanted to ask. _Are they fine? Or are they hurt? Killed? Will I ever find them?_

He didn’t realize he had indeed said those things out loud till Y/N answered him. 'I am sure they are, and I am sure you will. I can help you, if you want. But first, you need to sleep, rest, heal. Get back your strength.’

She stroked the back of his head, letting her hand rest in his neck. 'I know you did not deserve the things that happened to you.’

Vaguely, Daryl wondered how someone this kind could have survived that long, between raging walkers and murderous people. He wanted to ask, but his voice had slipped away again. He closed his eyes and breathed out.

He would find his family. But first, he would sleep.


End file.
